Mama stepped from the kitchen, shooting me a questioning look.

I could give her nothing.

“What a lovely surprise.” She ran her fingers over the old brown dress she’d put on for cleaning. She’d already shed her stained apron. “Theo, welcome.” She glanced toward the door. “Has my Dries come with you?”

“Dries remains in Paris, in good health, Mevrouw Bonger.” He kissed her hand a breath too late, and then straightened a breath too fast. “I apologize for the unannounced visit.”

“Any friend of my son is always welcome in our home. Please sit. I’ll ask Anke for refreshments.” And with that, she turned right out of the room, leaving me alone with our visitor.

I perched in the armchair next to the piano and folded my hands on my lap, while Theo lowered himself back onto the sofa, with more decorum this time. I couldn’t untangle the emotions that flickered across his face Worry? Irritation? Fear?

On his visit the year before—when Dries, Theo, and I had gone to the Rijksmuseum—Theo had been amusing, even brilliant with his knowledge of history and art, his eyes kind and encouraging. Now they burned with a disturbing intensity.

“Is all well with you, Johanna? And the family?”

“We are all well. Thank you. Papa and Henri are at work at the insurance company. Sanne walked the children over to the park, and Mien just went after them.” I had already asked about his mother, so I had to ask about something else next. “How is work at the gallery? Goupil?”

“Ah, you remember.” His smile sparked as if I’d given him a gift. “I am nudging them slowly toward progress. They are yet to allow me to display anyone but the artists of the Salon on the main level, but I finally have a few impressionists upstairs. Monet, Degas, Gauguin…”

More words pelted me, but my mind slipped into a daydream in which my Eduard appeared at the door to propose. I envisioned a wonderful life together: a home even finer than Papa and Mama’s, a son, and endless, blissful contentment.

“And then there’s Guillaumin.” Theo’s excited voice cut through my daydream. He was listing more artists he admired, some vaguely familiar.

“Dries has been writing me about the impressionists.”

Theo launched into even more fervent praise.

Thank heavens, Mama soon arrived, followed by Anke with the tray.

Anke poured for all of us, the scent of strong black tea and bergamot filling the air.

“Please, try the boterkoek,” Mama urged.

Theo ate the butter cake in haste and praised it even faster, then jumped to his feet again, which startled Mama so, her treasured Delft cup rattled against the matching saucer. “Might I take Jo for a walk along the canal?”

Mama held her saucer in both hands to avoid further upset. “Of course. Finally, a sunny day after all that rain.”